She slipped off her muddy sneakers and left them beside the door, not wanting to soil the fine, thick Turkish carpet. Moving carefully so as not to shake the drying mud from her clothes, she headed for the door she assumed led to the sitting room. She eased it open and peeped through just to make sure.
“Mistress Mila?” A young lass, maybe in her late teens, stood beside an enormous copper bathtub. A sheet was draped over its curved sides, and additional folds of linen were piled high on one end to provide a cushioned headrest. “Mistress?” the girl repeated. “Are ye unwell?”
“No.” Mila blinked, trying to take in the scene of the small, private area that was most definitely not a sitting room. “I was…uhm…looking for the sitting room to find a plain wooden chair. I didna wish to sit on the bed and soil it.”
The maid smiled and nodded at the tub. “This here’s yer bath, mistress. Steaming hot. The lads just brought in the last kettle.” She dipped a curtsy. “My name is Grissa. Mrs. Cain sent me to be yer lady’s maid and help ye with anything ye need.”
“A lady’s maid?”
“Aye.” Grissa leaned to one side, giving Mila’s muddiness a hard up-and-down look. “Are ye dressed as a man to make running easier?”
The girl was definitely bold. Mila decided to reserve judgment about whether that was a good thing. “Ye are verra perceptive,” she said, deciding to evade the question. She had enough lies to keep straight, what with everyone thinking her Robbie’s widowed mother.
The lass gave an understanding shake of her head as she refolded a cloth. “Ye dinna have to answer anything ye dinna wish to answer. Mrs. Cain made that clear too, and I know well enough I can be a busybody at times.”
Mila couldn’t recall the last time she’d had this much difficulty with people seeing right through her and knowing her thoughts and intentions. “I shall bear that in mind.”
The maid uncorked a small glass vial and poured a dollop of oil into the water. A light fragrance of fresh-cut roses filled the room. “Ye can pile yer things there by the door. I’ll see that they’re laundered, then returned to ye.” She looked up from the small table near the tub, bubbling with excitement as she opened several jars. “I found the nicest petticoat and skirt for ye. All that goes with it too. And all in a shade sure to make ye shine with that dark hair of yers. Since they told me ye be a tall woman, I knew Mrs. Gillicutty would have something to spare. I dinna ken if the slippers she sent will fit. If not, we can have Duff make ye a pair in no time at all. Himself ordered ye to have anything ye needed.” Grissa glanced up again and stopped preparing the bathing articles. “Is something wrong? Ye’ve not removed a stitch.”
“Ye’ve not left yet.” Mila tightened her grip on the blanket tied around her waist.
“Left?” Grissa seemed astonished, so much so that she backed up a step. “I have to help ye wash and comb out yer hair. ’Tis a pure muddy rat’s nest. When Mrs. Cain told me to be yer lady’s maid, she listed all that I should do. Wash ye. Dress ye. Mend yer things. Anything at all ye need.”
Mila wondered if Mrs. Cain had also advised the kindly girl to babble nonstop. She closed her eyes and massaged her throbbing temples.
“Willow bark tea will help that. I can run and fetch it whilst ye soak. The bath might ease yer poor aching head too.” The maid watched her as if waiting for a starter pistol to fire and launch her into her run. “Or I can wash ye first. Whichever ye like.”
Mila blew out a deep, defeated huff. There was no escaping this girl. She felt sure the lass meant well, but bloody hell, she talked nonstop. “A cup of willow bark tea would be lovely if ye dinna mind fetching it while I soak.”
Grissa responded with another beaming smile that made Mila think of happy, wiggly puppies. “I dinna mind at all, mistress. ’Tis my responsibility, and I am proud to do it.” She flicked a hand at Mila’s clothes. “Off with those now, so I can take them with me while ye rest in the water.” Before Mila could answer, Grissa hurried to the hearth, poked the fire, and pushed two large black kettles closer to the flames. “If the water cools too quickly, these will heat it up again nicely.”
“I best get busy, then, before it gets cold.” Mila had never been overly modest, but stripping down in front of the maid was uncomfortable for a number of reasons. How would she explain her bra and panties? Zippers and snaps on her jacket and jeans? Labels that listed materials, washing instructions, and possibly the year manufactured? She eyed the fire, wondering what Grissa would think if she tossed everything into the flames.
“Mistress? Are ye feeling poorly?” The lass stepped around the tub and eased closer. Compassion shone in her kind eyes. “Ye’ve gone all faraway-eyed again. Pale, too. Do bad memories trouble ye?”
“Aye.” Mila untied the blanket from around her waist and let it drop. “It is hard to forget the past.”Especially when it’s the future.The thought made her stomach gurgle.
“That it is, mistress.” The maid gave a decisive nod. “Sounds as though ye need something for yer innards too. I will head down now and get yer tea. A wee dram or two might do ye some good as well. I can tend to yer clothes once I have ye dressed and resting proper after yer bath.”
Mila agreed with a faint nod. At this point, as stressed as she was, she would agree to anything for a little quiet alone time to decompress.
Grissa bounced a happy curtsy and scurried from the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Mila lowered herself to a short stool and held her head in her hands. “I have no choice,” she muttered. Her favorite jeans, jacket, and t-shirt had to go into the fire. The backpacks and their contents had been dangerous enough. Her clothes were damning as well. But first, just to be safe, she had to ensure she was alone.
She yanked open the narrow door connecting the bathing area with the bedroom and looked around. No other maids or servants anywhere. Thank goodness. Much needed to be done before chatterbox Grissa returned. One more look around just to be on the safe side. A steady rattling deeper in the room worried her. It turned out to be something outside, the noise coming in through the open window.
With urgency making her rush, she loped back into the bathing closet, stripped down, and fed her clothing into the fire. She crammed too many things in at a time and nearly put it out. Crouching on the hearth, she gently blew on the coals until the blaze strengthened and took hold. The sound of approaching footsteps made her heart pound harder. She hurried to the tub, stepped in, and dropped into the water, clenching her teeth to keep from shouting. The hot liquid nearly scalded her. As the door slowly eased open, she pillowed her head on the linens and tried to look as if she had been in there a while.
“If I spill, I shall be verra cross with m’self.” Grissa bumped the door open wider while scowling at the contents of the tray she carried. “Is the water still plenty warm, mistress?” She carefully lowered the tray to a table beside the hearth. “Merciful heavens, what has got into that fire?”
“My clothes, and yes, the water is perfect.” Mila forced herself to act as if burning clothes was the most natural thing in the world.
“Ye burnt yer things?”
“Aye.” She sank deeper into the water and kept her eyes closed to the barest slits. If she acted nonchalantly, maybe the maid would buy it.
“But why, mistress? I couldha washed them up proper for ye.” Grissa brought a steaming cup over to the tub and held it out. “Of course, ’tis no never mind to me. Just seems a mite wasteful. Here is the willow bark for yer head.”
“Those clothes are from a time I can never return to.” Or, at least, as far as Mila knew, she and Robbie couldn’t get back. “To wear them again would be folly.” That truth was as bitter as the willow bark tea.
